


Emerging Patterns

by CeciliaDuncan



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeciliaDuncan/pseuds/CeciliaDuncan
Summary: Emerging patterns in a long relationship between two men; lovers or friends? From the first time through to what they will start to recognize as patterns and flows in their relationship.





	1. the Turned On kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two teenage boys explore their relationship while practicing their harmonies.
> 
>  **Disclaimer and other nonsense:** This fanfic is based on several things both Paul and Art have said over the years, especially about their first meeting. Obviously, the title “The Turned On Kids” comes from Artie talking about how thought about Paul when they first met. Even though it seems crude, I like the title, because in this little piece I hope to achieve the double meaning of two turned on kids, not just for each other but also in the way Artie meant it.  
>  **the actual Disclaimer:** Obviously, this is how they met according to my mind. Any similarities to the real persons and events are just happily coincidental. I can speak no truth in this case for I was not born yet, nor have I ever met them. For all the nonsense and gibberish I do to them, I tried to be respectful.

Grey blue eyes scanned rosy lips singing Ooh’s and Aah’s. The eyes tried to look further to see a tongue hit the roof of a palate as the mouth pronounced T’s and D’s. Singing close harmonies was an art and required long hours of practice and staring at your partners mouth, his lips and tongue, to give the ‘close’ in the harmony a capital ‘C’. Even at age 14 Art Garfunkel already knew that and it was that reason he was sitting nearly nose to nose with his best friend Paul Simon staring intently at his lips and tongue learning his pronunciation.

They practiced a cappella so they could just hear their voices and clean out all the mistakes and bring their voices and pronunciations closer and closer trying to almost make it sound like one voice. Art took Paul through numerous sounds challenging him to sound almost completely alike. They meandered through a variation of melodies and harmonies, Art leading coming up with a new melody every 5 minutes, challenging Paul to find the harmony line. Going back and try again when it didn’t quite work and trying new ways to let their voices dance around each other.

They had been doing that for nearly two hours when Art ran out of inspiration and fell silent. Art realized their faces were so close, he only had to lean in and his lips would touch Paul’s. The thought distracted him taking him out of the harmony game completely. They were just sitting there. They didn’t move and Art was still staring at those lips, now still. He felt his face turn red and wondered why he didn’t move, why he didn’t sit back and play it cool when Paul suddenly moved forward and planted his lips firmly against Art’s. Art was so shocked his first reaction was to pull back, but Paul had placed a hand against the back of his head keeping him in place.

A storm of butterflies filled his tummy as his lips were pushed forcefully into his teeth. Art could feel his heart pound in his chest, faster than normally. He realized his hands were hanging in mid air and he wondered if they had wanted to push Paul away or grab him and pull him in closer. Embarrassment and shock kept him from doing either and as usual he had no clue what to do with his hands, so they just hung there. He felt light in his head while a stream of consciousness, thoughts and emotions, passed through his brain. It felt like hours before Paul let go of him and sat back. It felt like it only lasted a few seconds once Art could look him in the eyes again.

There were a million things he wanted to say, and for a moment he thought he was talking, but he didn’t hear his voice, nor did his lips move; he said nothing. Paul sat opposite him watching him with those dark brown eyes, unreadable, with a look, as usual like he expected something unexpected to happen. What was he thinking? Was Art supposed to say or do something? Probably, since Paul had taken the first action, surely it was now Art’s turn, but he did nothing. Could he still sit back and play it cool? Or should he reply with a kiss back? Had that situation not passed? Why were his hands still in mid air?

“Why did you do that? People might think we’re gay!” Art heard himself say.

“People don’t know what we are,” Paul’s reply was.

“You kissed me!”

“Yeah…”

Art stared at Paul’s calm, only slightly flushed face. Didn’t he realize that was exactly something a gay couple would do?

Paul explained: “I’m not gay; I would never kiss another guy.”

Art was confused: “I’m a guy.”

“No, you’re Artie…You’re special.”

Artie’s hands finally landed on the bed pushing his body slightly away from his friend. The significance of that last statement was slowly settling in his mind. This was not just a friendship, nor was it a romance, this was a bromance. A deep kind of love so personal and so deep, only the two men involved understood what it was, and maybe, even they were not always sure. Something he had known for a while, maybe even since the first time they met. Paul had approached him, told him flat out that he had been waiting to meet him, that he had seen him in some talent show some years ago and immediately knew they had to meet. Art had known immediately, not said, that this guy was special. He loved Paul from the start, or at least right after that unusual introduction. 

“I love you.” Art couldn’t believe he just said that. He coloured a neat pink, he could actually feel the blood heating up his cheeks and neck. Paul smiled.

He placed his left hand gingerly over Art’s right hand, his right hand against Art’s left shoulder and he pushed him down on the bed. Awkwardly Art crawled further up the bed while Paul just as awkwardly tried to position himself on top of Art. Their eyes big with anticipation, nervousness and a mild kind of lust. Art felt Paul’s slight form wiggle on top of him trying to find a comfortable position. He was surprisingly light yet muscled. Paul carefully pushed himself up Art’s body his elbows digging in the bed, till their lips were levelled. They stared in each other’s eyes, grey blue sparkle meeting dark brown wells. Art felt himself fall into these wells while Paul drowned in the blues. Art lifted his head to take Paul’s lips. Paul let himself be taken.

This time Art’s hands were in the small of Paul’s back. He could put his hands under the shirt or into his trousers. He did not, yet the lack of movement rewarded him with hot soft skin. His attention was jerked away from the skin when Paul carefeully pushed his tongue into Artie’s mouth licking his lips, meeting his tongue and rolling around over his teeth and the insides of his cheeks. He tasted a bit salty, a bit spicey, and sweet. He felt soft and hot. A small moan escaped from Art’s throat and Paul broke away causing Artie to whine in protest. He opened his eyes when he heard Paul smirk. The smirk just fading away as Artie blinked and focused on Paul’s face. He hung over Artie leaning on his forearms with eyes darker than Artie had seen them before, if that was even possible.

“You’re not turning this into a contest!” Art spat at Paul.

Paul whispered just before pressing his lips in Artie’s neck: “Calm down, Artie.”

Art was not sure that his reaction really qualified as calming down. His body tensed momentarily when hot lips nipped at the skin in his neck. Goosebumps appeared all over his body and were sustained by kisses travelling over his collarbone. Art’s fingers grabbed a handful of dark hair, yanking slightly at it bringing Paul’s head up again. Paul looked up at him with hunger in his eyes. Art let go of the strands of hair and put his hands again in the small of Paul’s back pulling the smaller boy up and catching his lips with his own. In the movement their crotches rubbed against each other giving a new sensation and tension they both liked. As Paul found his position he pressed his abdomen down and grinded against Art’s causing him to moan again. 

They got so caught up in each other, they forgot the time. Hot flashes of excitement, soft strokes of tongues and the warmth and comfort of their best friend. The clock quietly tick-tocking away time and a rude disturbance when Eddie, Paul’s younger brother, banged the bedroom door shouting: “Paul! Come down and help set the table!!!” 

The two young boys jerked out of their shared state of ecstasy and into a state of alarm. Paul quickly checked his clock realizing Artie should be on his way home. He felt the blond boy stirring under him and trying to sit up.

“Paul, I need to go home.”

Paul pushed himself up next to Art sitting on his knees. He looked the blond boy over, bright red swollen lips, pupils still dialated. Art couldn’t just walk out like that. Looking down, Paul noticed a wet patch in his trousers, then looked at Art’s trousers noticing a similar stain. Art rubbed at it with an embarrassed look on his face.

“No-one can know, Artie.”

“No, I know,” Art agreed as he put his hands to his flushed cheeks.

Paul continued: “When you walk out, do it quickly, don’t let anyone see you.”

Art nodded in disappointment at how quickly it ended. Paul saw and understood his disappointment. He wrapped his arms around Art pulling him into an embrace and whispered in his ears: “I love you too.”

~.~

Paul’s mother was busy in the kitchen when she heard Art’s voice greeting her in an usual high voice while he rushed out of the door: “Goodbye, Mrs. S.” 

She only saw a fast moving shape when she looked around to see the blond boy and she greeted back: “Goodbye, Artie,” before moving to the kitchen window to see the boy running out of the front garden. She went into the hallway and called her eldest son: “Paul! Paul!”

The young boy appeared pulling just a clean t-shirt down over his jeans at the top of the stairs: “Yeah?”

“Is Artie all right?” She noticed her son’s cheeks were unuasally red.

“Sure,” he replied: “Why?”

“Has something happened?”

“No. What should have happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He seemed in a hurry to get away,” the mother studied her son’s face.

The boy shrugged: “Nothing much happened.” Then he disappeared.

~.~

Art ran the three blocks home. The energy of that afternoon still driving him to move, to move fast. He could run a marathon and not get tired. He could jump over high hedges without falling, because he had an extra spring in his step. The most important thing in his young life had just happened. Life had just really begun. Art could feel it, he knew it, this was something special, something so important. This was the start of the rest of his life. This was the start of a journey of a lifetime and Art was travelling it with his best friend; the turned on kid in the neighbourhood.

He ran in full speed through the front porch, opened the front door in one fluent movement and sprinted up the stairs greeting his mother as he flew passed the kitchen.

“Hi mom, I’m back home!”

His mother did not get the chance to greet him. Art practically danced into his room and swirled around for moments giving in to the whirlwind of emotions and energy. Had he not been in a house with other people, he might have shouted at the top of his lungs. Instead he burst out in a few lines of melodies and song, because that was the best way he knew to get rid of exces sounds in his head and heart. He could climb up the four walls of his bedroom, he jumped around in a circle up his bed and chair. He was in heaven.

“What you’re doing?” came the question from Art’s younger brother who had been watching him in the doorway since he stormed in.

“Nothing. Go away!” But Art didn’t really care, because all that mattered and the only person that mattered to Artie now, was about three blocks away. And tomorrow Art would see him again.

 


	2. True or False

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two teenage boys explore their relationship when they’re supposed to be doing homework.
> 
>  **Disclaimer and other nonsense:** I was in need of some sweetness and hotness. Teenage Paul and Artie are very precious to me, because no-one knew yet what was to come; they were all sweet and innocent. The end doesn’t look like a sweet ending, but the story is not actually finished; it lives in my head and just didn’t materialize on the paper.  
> 

His own breathing seemed loud to his ears. He lay on his back, his eyes still closed, only just waking up. His sleepy brain conjured up some vague memories of stolen kisses and a warm exciting feeling all around him. He couldn’t quite decide if it was a dream or not. All he knew was he didn’t want to wake up if it was a dream. All he knew was he wanted it to be real. Just like with every dream, Art tried to remember more of the details like where he was and with whom. He tried to make sense of all the thoughts in his head and all the emotions in his heart. Just like with most dreams, he couldn’t make much sense out of it, but strangely the memories became clearer instead of fading into a mist. 

Art’s eyes opened in a shock; it was real!

Yesterday he was at Paul’s doing homework and after they had finished they practiced their harmonies. Somehow that exercize lead into something else. Art felt his cheeks warm up when he remembered Paul’s lips against his own. An arousal took possession of him when he remembered Paul’s hips grinding against his own. Being in the privacy of his own bedroom and in his own bed, Art let the feeling spread and took a while to fully enjoy it. Jules and Jerry could take the bathroom first, Art was in no hurry this morning since he wanted to enjoy his memories for as long as he could. Hopefully, today he could collect some more nice memories. Thing was, he wasn’t sure how Paul felt about all that happened yesterday.

 **We’ve got a thing going, true or false?**  
Nobody could know. That made finding out what Paul thought of the day before really hard. Paul was always hard to read and Art got nowhere trying to read his body language or facial expressions. There were no hints, not even a sign he remembered. Art knew he shouldn’t be worried, but Paul’s lack of acknowledgement made him nervous. Art knew he should probably be more careful, but he couldn’t help glancing at Paul every so often.

The nervousnous translated into a longing turning into an aching. By the end of the schoolday Art was feeling positively sick. They walked the few miles home together, this time to Arties house. The plan was like yesterday, do homework first and spend the rest of the time practicing their harmonies. Maybe today they would use the tape recorders. Art was squeezing the handle of his bag so hard his knuckles turned white. Paul was comparatively relaxed and unbothered. He did notice Art’s nervousnous throughout the day. Art was quieter than normal, less interested in having fun, not singing to himself. They could not take this outside, and knowing why Art was like this, there was no use asking what got into him. So Paul ignored it.

When they got to Artie’s, Art was in a hurry to get to his bedroom; he felt like he was exploding. Arriving in his bedroom he threw his bag in a corner and turned to Paul who was not as much in a hurry. Paul didn’t look at him as he dropped his bag and took his coat of.

“Well!?” Art burst out.

Paul gave him a quizzical look: “Well what?”

“You’re not going to say anything about yesterday?”

“What’s there to say?”

Art wasn’t sure what he wanted Paul to say, but he needed something from him. 

**This is a good thing, true or false?**  
Paul had taken off his waistcoat and was now undoing the buttons on his shirt. Art’s brain was such a confused mess, the realization Paul was undressing in front of him only slowly filtered through the jumble of arguments, words and actions Art wanted from Paul. His aching and confusion came out in a stuttered flow of words and sounds. There was a soft smile around Paul’s lips as he revealed a smooth chest. His eyes never left Arties. Arties stuttering was leaving more and more gaps of silence till he was not making any sounds anymore. His overwhelming emotions left him trembling and for a short moment he wanted Paul to be gone so he could crawl in bed and cry a little. Paul walked up to him wrapping his arm around Art’s trembling frame.

“You really need to calm down,” Paul whispered. He took Art to the bed sitting him down his arms still around Art’s shoulders.

Art broke down sobbing. He didn’t want to cry, he didn’t even know he was going to cry. He felt so stupid breaking down like this. He had no idea what came over him, why it affected him so much. Paul was all compassionate sweetness, hugging Art partly because he was getting cold. It took Art a little while to compose himself. When he did he looked at Paul with red surprised eyes. Paul had been sitting there without his shirt on. The realization washed away the tears to make space for that increasingly familiar arousal. Only now Art noticed Paul was trembling too; he wasn’t sure if it was just the cold or maybe the same emotions Art had just been battling. Without thinking about it he wrapped his arms around Paul and pulled him into his embrace his hands rubbing Paul’s back.

Art nestled his nose in Paul’s hair smelling his warm odor that was Paul. He wanted to kiss him, but he felt shy about doing so. Art was very conscience of where their bodies had contact; his hands on Paul’s back, Paul’s left hand roaming on his back, his right hand under Art’s shirt pinching his nipple. Now Paul’s left hand also found a way in lifting up Art’s shirt exposing white, warm skin. Art starts to wiggle and fumble to get his shirt off. Paul’s help is not actually increasing the speed, it’s rather inhibiting Art his head and arms getting stuck in a knot of limbs and fabric.They’re both giggling a little once Art’s red cheeks finally emerge from the tangle of shirt. Without thinking too much about it Paul puts his lips against Art’s still giggling mouth silencing him.

Finally Art gets what he needs from Paul. All the confusion and worry fell off of him and he submerged himself in this embrace. They moved further up the bed wrestling for control, rolling over each other, hungrily trying to consume their friend. At some point during their wrestling their pants came off and then their underwear. Never had they been completely naked together, they certainly never felt their naked bodies pressed together like this. The sensations were incredible driving them to go further. At some point Paul managed to pin Art beneath him. They had not discussed how far they wanted to go. They had not thought things through. Art’s conscience snapped into reality as a sharp burn spread from his bottom throughout his body. He gasped in shock as Paul moved forward not noticing his friend’s apparent pain. Art didn’t want to spoil it for Paul, so he pressed his face into his pillow releasing a silent scream.

The stream of thoughts and anxiety were back racing through his head, he was back to crying. Was this not what he wanted? Art didn’t know anymore, didn’t know anything anymore. Did he want Paul to stop? He thought ‘Yes’ or was it ‘No’ after all? Everything was a mix of the same confusing sensations and emotions. He wanted Paul as close as possible, he needed him on a distance. He wanted Paul to stop, he needed Paul to never stop. He wanted Paul to slow down, he needed him to finish it and he did. With a satisfied sigh Paul squeezed all out he had in him eventually collapsing ontop of Art embracing him.

Art did not let him know.


	3. A Cat and Mouse Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two teenage boys trying to deal with their first heartbreak.
> 
>  **Disclaimer and other nonsense:** The end still doesn’t look like a sweet ending, but the story is still not actually finished. I’m taking much longer than I planned and it seems the story is in control of me, not the other way around. God knows what gibberish my mind comes up with next.  
> 

For the first time in their friendship it was Paul trying to lure Artie, but Art seemed to have lost interest in Paul. Why else was he avoiding him? A few times Paul had walked up to Artie’s house for their daily walk together to their school when he was informed Artie had already left. Confused Paul continued through the rough neighbourhood on his own. He might be small, an easy target, but he was also fast, not so easy after all. Paul made it through the neighbourhood two times unharrassed and with all his lunch money. Three times they chased him and only once out of the three times they managed to catch up with him and stole his lunch money.

It was not that which bothered Paul, it was Artie. He had very kindly shared his lunch money the one time Paul got robbed, but hadn’t said much to him and was still avoiding him as much as he could. After a week of hide and seek and cat and mouse game Paul had enough of it. One afternoon, immediately after their last class, Paul sprinted ahead making sure he was not going to miss Art. He knew Art had changed the route a little. He also knew Art left as quickly as possible. Both designed to try and avoid Paul.

Paul hid behind a hedge. He could see the street Art was coming out and knew he had to pass by where Paul was hiding. This way he could surprise him and Paul would be very surprised if Art would try to run away. Paul didn’t have to wait very long, Art’s trademark blond afro soon emerged from the street and made his way towards the hedge. Paul waited till Art was close; he practically jumped into his face. Art stepped back alarmed at first, then relaxed when he realized it was just Paul, then tensed up again when he once again realized it was Paul.

“You’re avoiding me?”

“No! Why would I do that?”

“How should I know, you’re the one leaving early without me every single time.”

Art sighed and rolled his eyes as he looked away from Paul. He wanted it to appear like he was annoyed with Paul’s apparent ignorance. Truth was, after what happened between them, he still couldn’t look Paul in the eyes.

“Artie! Ever since that afternoon you’ve been weird.”

Still looking away and with a fake irritation in his voice he replied: “What do you mean “weird”!? I’ve not been weird.” It was so easy to just look over Paul.

“Well actually,” Paul mused: “you’re always weird,” then he picked up the anxiety that led him to cornering Art: “you’re even weirder than normally!”

Now Art was looking directly at him, hurt in his eyes. He started walking again brushing passed Paul.

“No, wait!” Paul cried out grabbing Art’s elbow.

The look in Artie’s eyes was hard when he turned and faced Paul.

“I don’t mean “weird”,” Paul tried to salvage the situation. “I mean…uh…well maybe weird, but that’s not a bad thing. I like how you’re weird!”

Art pulled his elbow from Paul’s grip: “Oh, shut up, Paul!”

Art walked away in a brisk pace. He could hear Paul yelling after him in the distance. When he thought he was far away he let go of control, the harsh look making place for tears which he wiped away with his sleeves. “Weird”, Paul thought he was “weird”. 

Maybe Art was too busy dealing with his emotions and maybe he forgot how quick and unnoticed Paul could creep up on people. Whatever the case, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Paul caught up with him and called out his name: “Artie!”

“Geez!” Art wailed. “Why don’t you ever consider other people!? You wanna know why I don’t want to talk to you!? Do you!? Because of just that, because nothing and no-one in your little world matters more than you! You don’t care about how I feel! Definitely not when it doesn’t suit you! That’s why I don’t want to talk to you. Now leave me alone!!!!”

Art left in a hurry leaving Paul shocked and perplexed. He watched Artie’s back slowly disappearing in the distance. Paul didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this outburst. How had things gone so badly wrong for them? What went wrong? Paul wasn’t sure. 

Paul felt dizzy and with every step he thought he was falling. The sounds around him seemed to echo in his head and the air around him was clammy, his vision blurred as if he was in water. In a daze Paul made his way home. Without greeting his mother he went straight to his bedroom and flopped down onto the bed.

His brain was feverishly trying to work out what happened. What just happened on the street. What had happened about a week ago? What did they do? When did it go wrong? What did he say or do? What could have upset Artie? 

About an hour later Paul was still lying on his bed, his chin leaning on his pillow propped up forcefully with his arms creating a steady platform for his chin to lean on. He hadn’t gotten anywhere with his analysis of this Artie-situation. He couldn’t think of what he might have said or done that caused Artie’s withdrawal and meltdown. Artie’s words played through Paul’s head over and over: “Why don’t you ever consider other people!?” Paul tried to count the times he did consider other people, just to prove him wrong. “You don’t care about how I feel!” Now that was an outright lie, Paul did care about how Artie felt. Of course he did.

A soft knock on his door, Paul didn’t answer. The door opened and his mother peeked in looking worried. 

“Is everything all right?”

Paul just shrugged.

His mother looked down at her son in the way only mothers can. 

“Did you fight with Artie?”

This elicited a reaction, even though it was just his eyes rolling to look up at his mother.

“He’s downstairs,” she said trying to coax her son to get up.

“I think you should talk through whatever upset you,” she paused raising her eyebrows, slightly nodding. Paul’s eyes were now staring at his chair, trying not to see his mother’s gentle suggestions.

Eventually his mother disappeared and a few seconds later Art’s shy, pink face came around the door. 

“Can I come in?”

Paul pushed himself into a sitting position looking Artie over. His voice sounded bitter: “Now you want to talk?”

Art shuffled into the room, the door closing behind him almost without a sound. He looked apologetic. “Well…” he started, his voice trailing off.

Paul staring at him with those dark unreadable eyes, made Art feel uncomfortable. It was as if Paul looked straight through him, judged him, sentenced him. He bought himself some time checking if someone was trying to listen in; he opened the door looking out, even stepped into the hallway for a moment before reluctantly moving back into the room.

“I think I didn’t make myself very clear,” Art tried again. “When I said you weren’t considered of others, I meant…” he paused trying to read Paul’s face though he still couldn’t. “I meant…I suppose I should have said something.”

Paul sat watching Art completely motionless. For a while he watched Art getting more and more nervous moving from one leg to the other. Nothing more came from Art, so Paul expressed his confusion:

“What are you talking about!?”

“Last week? When we were…you know…I didn’t want to spoil it, so I said nothing. You seemed to enjoy it.”

It became slowly clear to Paul: “You didn’t enjoy last week.”

Art turned his gaze to the floor: “No, it actually hurt quite a bit.”

A load fell off of Paul’s shoulder, though he felt bad for Art. If only he had said something; Paul always assumed Art enjoyed it as much as he had. He never intended to hurt him.

“Okay,” the next part didn’t come easy to Paul: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Art looked up at Paul through his eyelashes: “I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

Paul got up from the bed and checked the hallway, no matter Art had done that only a few minutes earlier.

When he closed the door, leaning against it, Art had not turned and was still facing the bed, his gaze still on the floor.

“Artie,” Paul whispered. He reached and touched Art’s fingers who pulled back startled.

Art crossed his arms hugging himself: “Let’s not, I mean…let’s just not do that again.”

That was not where Paul wanted their relationship to head; unlike Art, Paul had thoroughly enjoyed their intimacy and was hungry for more. Paul could only think of one way to steer it back to stolen kisses and awkward fumblings.

“You do me this time.”

Art’s mouth fell open his head almost invisibly shaking: “No, I don’t want to.”

“Art, I enjoyed it…and I want you to…I want you to experience what I experienced.”

Art was still not into the idea.

“We’ll take precautions next time. We’ll, we’ll…I don’t know…Whatever it takes.”

Art turned his gaze back to the floor still hugging himself.

“Artie,” it now sounded plaintive: “I don’t want to lose you.”

Art let his arms fall away from his chest: “Just give me some time.” Then he reached for the door, Paul narrowly letting Art get out. 

Paul felt a lump in his throat he didn’t seem to be able to swallow away. His feet felt heavy again and his knees were buckling under his weight. Forced to sit down in front of the door. It was a good thing he was the only person in the room since he broke down crying.


	4. Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Art making amends after a period of separation.
> 
>  **Disclaimer and other nonsense:** There’s your sweet ending.  
> 

Was it heartbreak? Was he ever in love with Artie? No, it was not like his infatuations with some girl. His relationship with Artie ran on a different level; existed for different reasons. It was in some way as if Artie completed him, but not in that lovey-dovey kind of way, but more like in a young boy’s coming-of-age kind of way. They were bonding, influencing and becoming a part of one another; during their formative years, their sensibilities became so intertwined, it would inform and shape not only their relationship, but also the rest of their lives. The question remained, what were they? Lovers or just very close friends? Even after 60 years, Paul hadn’t figured that one out.

He cast his mind back to a summer day. He remembered his heart heavy with fear and sadness. He remembered being particularly shocked by the severity of those feelings, and the cause being Artie. Artie… Maybe that summer was the only time he admitted he loved Artie, maybe he even was in love with him, but he would never admit it. After all, Paul had been delighted to have caught Art’s attention and was then devastated when he thought he had lost it.

The summer of their first major falling out, the awkward period after Paul misinterpreted Art’s reactions while he was loving him so deeply. They had a few words about what happened. Or Art had a few words, Paul not so much. Reasons why Art didn’t want anything else to happen didn’t necessarily have anything to do with what happened that late afternoon. Art’s reasons were the sum of several little things, that late afternoon included, spread over a long period of time. Things Paul did or didn’t do, or said or didn’t say. This was when Paul found out about Art’s incapability of letting go; it would haunt both of them for years to come.

The sheer onslaught of accusations left Paul paralyzed. Maybe he had fault in some cases, something he didn’t know how to deal with either. Art’s sudden waterfall of all things wrong with their relationship left Paul wondering why they were friends at all. Paul was too insensitive. Paul was too calculating. Paul was too uncompassionate. And they could never agree on anything anyway. Honesty was fine, but did Art really need to deliver it with such gusto?

Paul’s mood went from sad to angry, to confused, to indifferent and back to sad and angry. It couldn’t be all his fault. For example, the fact Paul took most decisions for them was true, but Artie could get off of his backside and take some action himself. He was very welcome to, no matter Paul would possibly undo half of what Artie had done, but that was not the point. However, according to Art, that was exactly the point. Or for a change Art could tell Paul how he felt about something, now half of the time he left Paul guessing, resulting in Paul doing something that Art found insensitive and uncompassionate. How could he keep anything in mind if Art didn’t tell him to; he was no mind reader. 

All the back and forths, all the ugly words and all those hurt feelings were exhausting Paul. He needed his friend by his side. The same guy who accused him of elbowing his way towards his goals, but nonetheless cared for him, or so he said. Paul saw no proof of care or love from Artie’s side. He hadn’t for a while and he was thirsty for it. His greatest supporter and encourager was also his greatest critic, well second greatest; Paul was his own greatest critic. Maybe third, his father was rather critical about him as well. No, Artie was definitely second; his father was just a big influence on Paul, but not necessarily his greatest critic. Anyway, what was what Paul needed the most from Art he didn’t get; some tenderness.

Now Paul sat on the bus alone, staring sadly out of the window. Artie or no Artie, Paul was going to get that new Everlys record. He could learn the songs on his own, maybe find another partner to sing with, though it would mean starting over with bringing voices together. That was always Artie’s contribution. Paul could do it, he was quite sure he could, it would just be easier with Art. Part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to do it at all without Art, maybe give up on it all together. No, that wasn’t an option.

His musings prevented him from seeing much of the scenery going by as he travelled the distance to the record shop. He was stull quietly daydreaming when he searched for the LP in the shop. He found the ‘E’ section soon enough, yet the LP itself didn’t seem to be there. Paul scrambled through the collection with dread; he couldn’t be too late. In a slight panic he got to the counter inquiring after the new Everly’s LP. 

“Already sold out,” the shop owner answered matter of factly.

The clear disappointment on Paul’s face didn’t change the situation, though the shop keeper told him he only just sold the last one to a blond kid, he just walked out of the store. Paul immediately left the store; the blond kid could well be Artie. If it was Artie and Paul hurried up, he could catch up with him before the next bus would take him away. Sure enough, after a little sprint he saw a blond head bopping along the crowds towards the bus stop. Speeding up was not easy with so many people around, but Paul hardly noticed them. It was Artie all right.

“Artie,” Paul called still some distance away. 

Art stopped and turned, a flow of people, some cursing him for suddenly stopping, pushing away along side him. Art waited till Paul caught up. All the awkwardness between them gone as the new record took precedence. Paul’s eyes were firmly on the brown package under Artie’s arm.

“You bought it?”

“Yeah,” Art’s voice sounded as if that was the weirdest question ever.

Paul looked up at him, but Art spoke before he could say anything.

“I was coming to your place with it. I didn’t realize you were coming out here.”

“We can still go to my place…”

“Yeah…”

Without any further conversation they waited for the bus. Art was clinging to the new LP almost as if his life was depending on it. Paul tried to distract himself with planning out the rest of the day, making sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. It meant trying to claim the record player, maybe even dragging it up to his bedroom. The boxes too, they really came with the record player, so… Paul couldn’t help his eyes wander over to his friend from time to time, looking at his face, the LP, his friend’s hands clutching the LP.

They were still quiet in the bus, both not sure what to say. Paul concentrated on the spot their thighs were touching; it felt nice and warm. Paul’s mind moved on from planning the claim on the record player to planning how to get intimate with Artie again. He went through a few scenario’s, trying to figure out which was the best approach. He was so focused on his plans, a hot shock ran through his spine when Artie’s hand timidly landed on his. He even squeezed a little and Paul found himself staring down at Artie’s hand on top of his own. Art quickly looked away out of the window when Paul looked up at him.

Cheeks blossom pink, grey city speeding by, blond curls soft but messy, the shy within the blue sparkles. Paul ached to touch him.

When they got to Paul’s home, he averted his eyes, got busy with the lock, when Art’s eyes settled on his face. He could feel Art’s stare, gentle yet probing. Paul touched Art’s hand before going in: “C’mon…” his voice sweet and vulnerable.

They took the time to lug record player and boxes up to Paul’s bedroom. Paul’s mother watching them with this mix of gladness they made up, and worry about what they might do next. She let them go; it was only healthy her young teenage son was discovering his sexuality and Artie was a sweet, smart boy.  
The boys set the audio installation up on Paul’s desk, one box next to the record player on the desk, the second box on the chair. Artie unpacked the LP with care, folding brown paper next to his stuff, the LP gingerly put on. Art sat down next to Paul on the bed, his hand finding Paul’s immediately.

The music played on, both sides several times. The boys were careful not to talk about what happened, careful not to drag up ill feelings. They both wanted, no needed, the other one’s affections. Paul hardly moved, afraid he would put a toe out of line. Right now he needed Art more than his usual need of acknowledgement, he wasn’t going to sabotage this moment. Art wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close: “I love you,” it sounded like a complaint, a declaration at the same time. Paul closed his eyes leaning his head against Art’s shoulder. Lips graced the edges of his ear, soft kisses audible in the air. Rustling clothes as Art held Paul tightly his hands under the hem of Paul’s shirt inching it up his back. Art’s warm hands contrasted with the cold stark air made him shiver.

Paul’s hand moved across Art’s back on its own accord. His fingers dug into the fabric of the buttoned up shirt. He grabbed a fistful of cotton and tried to pull it away from skin. Art grabbed Paul’s wrist and pulled him away.

“Careful,” his clear voice whispered, warm humid air tickling Paul’s ear.

Art took the hem of Paul’s shirt and pulled it in one smooth movement over Paul’s head. Paul’s chest was heaving with excitement and anticipation. Art took great care in his preparations and this time Paul was more than willing to follow Artie’s lead. There was only one thing wrong; once Art had Paul naked and heated on his back up on the bed, Art was still completely dressed. Paul took one of Art’s sleeves between thumb and index finger tugging at it lightly indicating what he wanted. Art completely ignored him, released himself from the tug and set to work between Paul’s legs.

His hands stroking the inside of Paul’s thighs elicited gasps. The tickling made him very sensitive, his breathing became faster. He stared at the ceiling concentrating at the light touches, the fingers playing and massaging him. A spike of pleasure shot through his body when Art applied his tongue, hot, wet licks and sucks turning Paul into a quivering mess.

Paul was disorientated when the touches and strokes stopped and he heard Art rummaging through his bag. Paul propped himself up on his elbows to see what was happening.

“What you’re doing?”

Art sat on his heels pulling something out of his bag: “I’ve been thinking…”

Paul frowned; he wasn’t really in the mood for a philosophical discussion.

“The last time,” Art continued. “Wasn’t so smooth, so I brought something…” He held the “something” up for Paul to see. Paul squinted his eyes to see it in the shimmering light; it was a pink pot or some sort of condiment.

“It’s mom’s body lotion, she puts it on after bath.” Art unscrewed the lit and took a tentative sniff. 

“It smells like flowers…” He held it up again with a bemused look on his face then turned to Paul: “Should do the trick.”

Paul was still not sure what Art was up to: “Do what trick?”

Art settled back between Paul’s legs urging him to lie down. He fumbled around for a while; Paul suspected he was making a mess down there.

“Are there any more pillows around?”

Paul propped himself up again: “There should be a spare in the closet over there.”

Art, still not informing Paul what he was up to, went to get the extra pillow. He seemed very serious about it all. He motioned Paul to lift his hips and shove the pillow under him.

“You’re comfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m fine! I cooled down though, but I’m fine.”

Art looked a bit beaten: “Sorry it’s taking so long; I just want to do it right.”

This could easily go wrong and Paul would be even further removed from what he so desperately needed, so he mumbled an apologize and lay back down. He dared not sit up again when Art remained still for a while. There was no movement, no sound even. Fortunately Art overcame his trepidation and started to apply the cold creamy lotion in massaging circles, his index finger delicately dipping between Paul’s cheeks and around his orifice.

Paul’s breath caught in his throat when the finger slid inside the ring of muscle, circling and encouraging him to relax. Paul let his mind drift and float away on the soothing massage and new intimate sensations. Paul really enjoyed the gradual stretch, hardly noticed Art’s careful pacing, one finger after another till he managed to insert three fingers spreading and thrusting tenderly in and out slowly driving Paul into ecstasy. 

Soon enough he was so close to climax, the tension increasing, he was so close when Art retreated and nothing happened for a little while. Paul was in deep enough for him to take long to realize, by the time he was about to check what was going on the stretch returned more intense. Art filled him up completely this time and it felt substantial and unforgiving. Paul gasped partly in shock, but mostly in an heightened sense of intoxication. His fists grabbed the bed linen causing Art to slow his movements.

Paul’s voice sounded smothered and breathy: “Oh Art!”

Art still cautious checked: “You ok?”

“Oh..oh yes…” it took Paul a lot of effort to answer since his mind was muddled with intense intoxication, and he didn’t really want to reply afraid it would ruin the magic.

It was enough confirmation for Art to go for it, his movements growing faster, more frantic. It was true what Paul told him, that embrace, the heat and friction were incredible. All he wanted was to crawl as deep into Paul as he could, feeling him all around, stroking him on the inside, be held. Art found the perfect rhythm their bodies beating to it like a backing track to their perfect song. The situation got even more heated, sweaty and slipping out of control. Art desperately tried to keep hold of Paul’s hips buckling and thrusting unpredictably. He lifted Paul up by his hips, repositioned himself and pushed down into Paul causing him to cry out.

Sticky white release dribbling down Paul’s chest, his mouth agape wide and his eyes rolling to the back of his head, gasping and moaning while Art pounded into him. Art orgasmed soon after caused by Paul’s sudden tight squeeze increasing the friction, the tight embrace. Paul was slowly regaining conscience while Art was still riding high on waves of intense orgasm. 

The feeling changed into something secure and safe. Never before Paul felt so loved, so well cared for. He watched Art’s face contort in ecstasy, his hips still moving trying to squeeze out all he had, settling deliberately into a slower pace, just to be together as close as they could, to hold out for as long as they could. Neither of them really wanted it to end, but after a while Art had to admit he had nothing in him anymore and his erection was fading.

Art let Paul’s legs down allowing him to sit up. Paul pulled Art into an embrace and down under the the dirty, soaked sheets kissing his face all over, he whispered:

“Thank you…for your tenderness.”

The record player unnoticed stopped its hum, they lay in quiet and peace.


	5. Inarticulation of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what I decided happened after ‘Tenderness’ and before Paul disappears to England.

It was as if it never happened, the awkwardness, that little lull in their friendship. Once they reconciled it was business as usual, now including a little intimacy that suited their coming-of-age and experimenting with sexuality. The same things were still important; music, their upcoming careers, baseball, school and girls. About the order of importance existed some arguments, but once their teenage minds were taken up with one of them those arguments quickly stopped or evolved in different arguments. Neither of the boys was particularly bothered by the many squabbles they were now having; they both concluded it came with the importance of the subjects and they always managed to come to some shared decision. Also, all through their heated discussions shone the love and admiration they held for each other. Reaching out and hoping, trying to catch some of the other boys’ talents and skills, they grew and developed together. They were so close, they spent so much time together, it started to look like they formed one unit, or maybe even one perfect person together. One perfect person with a whole lot of contradictions within him, but for now, it worked a treat.

Art noticed Paul’s skills on the guitar were evolving fast and he also started to outrun Art with the writing. Paul’s mind seemed to be going at full speed all the time and Art sometimes had trouble keeping up with him. He still was the better singer of the two, though Paul’s voice had grown stronger and more stable. It was still Art working out all the harmonies and he loved playing around with the two recorders, trying to find new ways of harmonizing or slicing harmonies together into rich layered tapestries. Soon enough they managed to write their own songs, work out the chords, the harmonies, practice and then record and edit them. They were so proud of their first production, Paul promptly suggested officially registering it.

Their greatest success came when they tried to remember and work out the latest Everly Brothers hit. Their takes on the songs brought together sounded very much like what they thought their ears had heard. It was a big surprise to them when they caught the actual song on the radio, sounding nothing like what they remembered and were playing by then.

Paul noted: “So I suppose this is an original Simon and Garfunkel song then.” 

“Garfunkel and Simon,” Art murmured under his breath.

Paul just glared at him having heard what he said anyway. However, he decided it was not worth an argument, so he let it go.

For a few moments the boys contemplated what had happened, what they had on their hands. This was an original song, which sounded like a hit. People in the neighbourhood had started to notice them, tapping their feet when they listened to them playing on some street corner. Especially this song. Maybe they could get it recorded. Maybe they could get a record deal and make a whole album of their original songs. They had enough material, it might just work.

The plan was to go into Manhattan, to the Brill building, shop their songs around and see who wanted to listen. It turned out, not that many people. Some listened patiently to one or two verses before stopping them and throwing them out, most however looked them over and didn’t even let them enter, let alone play and sing. They looked too weird, too Jewish, too unlikely, too little like rock stars. They looked like a comic couple, perhaps, more like students to become lawyers, not like rock stars.  
Art was ready to give up after a week of rejection, Paul was not; he was convinced their material was good enough to make an impression, and there was nothing in the world he wanted more than record an album, be that rock star. So after a bit of whining on Art’s part to go back home and Paul trying to convince Art to not give up just yet, they decided to make a new, clearer record of ‘ Hey School girl (in the second row)’ and shop that around for a little while. That was when their luck returned.

From then on it all happened full speed and in a blur. They had their first hit at 15 and they carried their new pop status at school with pride. A new wave of interest from the opposite sex and the changed interest of the boys; they were now cool. It enhanced the experimentations with their sexuality; they had a healthy diet of fumblings in the schoolyard behind some bushes, pink blushing girls with wavy hair and sweet smiles. They bragged to each other about how many girls they were going out with, always eventually stumbling back onto that strange feeling of jealousy. Art had a cute girlfriend with brown friendly eyes and with wavy brown hair that always laughed. Paul had a rather pretty girlfriend who was taller than him and who had rosy full lips always willing to use them on Paul’s face. They averted their eyes when the other one was with his girlfriend. They claimed it was out of politeness and decency, secretly it was to hide the jealousy and sad stares. They were still devoted to each other, no matter the girls.

Late one afternoon Paul was lying flat on his stomach racing through his homework. Art sat cross legged next to him, stealing glances at Paul’s bare arms and bare legs stretched out on the floor. He knew Paul’s position better than his homework. He knew for instance that Paul was leaning his head on his left hand and that he was lazily writing with his right hand, something Art never mastered being a true lefty unlike Paul. He knew that Paul’s feet and toes were playing with the handle of a bag lying randomly on the floor. He knew Paul’s shirt cropped up a little showing a nicely tanned back and a bit of spine tickling Art’s imagination and seedier needs. Art new how Paul’s muscles moved under his skin, how they flexed and relaxed. He knew how tan Paul was at any given moment, no matter how many layers were covering him up. He knew Paul’s hair was still in this neat brushed up hairdo and he knew those dark eyes ignoring Art staring at him.

All Art really wanted to do that afternoon was lying down next to Paul, wrap his arms around his frame and pull him so close to his body, he would feel Paul’s heart beat, feel his limbs move around him, the muscles tensing, Paul’s breath in his ear and his scent that Art came to know so well. That was what Art wanted to do. He didn’t dare do it; felt awkward about it. He was also worried about his timing and he was worried he would lose control and do something to push Paul away.

Paul suddenly stirred, pushed himself up, pulling his legs under his body so he was sitting on his knees. Art admired how the flesh propped up to accommodate the bending of his legs and meeting of upper- and lower legs folded together.

“Dunno ‘bout you, but I finished homework,” Paul declared.

Paul threw his pencil down and wiped all his paper into a messy pile which he then tried to stuff in his school bag. Art was staring at his thin teenage arms, smooth and just as tan as his back. He was a bit taken aback when Paul aimed his full attention at him wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. His head was once again swimming when he tasted Paul’s sweet flavour.

“I saw you staring,” Paul sounded half amused and fake mocking.

“I was wondering how long you would take,” he paused studying Art’s face before continuing: “but when you didn’t do anything, I had to, didn’t I?”

Art felt hot and had trouble forming any words. He eventually managed to whisper: “Sorry.”

“Don’t think I have no interest in you anymore, Artie,” Paul assured him.

Art nodded; he knew. This was all a bit complicated. Girls, there was no way they were going to be left out. The interest and curiosity were there. They both had rolled around with girls and it had been wonderful. Funny though, what Art remembered of it was telling Paul all about it. It had been wonderful, not quite as nice as with Paul. With Paul, it was different, more intimate, more love, secret.

Art leaned forward against Paul, his head resting on his shoulder. He just wanted to be held; he never wanted to lose this love. No girl was going to pull him away from it. Paul’s hands stroke his back calming him down. Paul’s nose was in Art’s hair drawing in the smell. They just sat there, being together, being safe in each others arms. A moment of bliss.

~.~

Only two weeks ago Artie had felt ecstatic, as any teenager would have after having your first pop hit. Now that sensation had dulled considerably. Only two weeks ago Artie was almost willing to admit that maybe, he was a little in love with Paul. Now he was just furious with him, and confused. Yes, Artie was very confused about what happened. Apparently he made an assumption that turned out to be wrong. Apparently he miscalculated this friendship and his friend was not who Artie thought he was. It turned out they were not on the same page, or just not quite. 

At first, when Paul casually mentioned he had a side contract for his solo ventures, Art was stunned. As the news slowly settled in, he became furious. By that point Paul had already moved on to their next “hit” making Art’s explosion seemed sudden and unrelated to anything. Paul’s reaction to Art’s explosion was one of subdued confusion. In Paul’s mind it was no big deal; he was just ceasing opportunities. He didn’t realize Art saw it as a betrayal and didn’t accept that once Art told him. With Art’s incapability of expressing how hurt he was and Paul failing to understand it, the first of their lengthy, uncomfortable silences started with the two just glaring at each other. Both realized they had just met an invisible barrier within their friendship. From that point on, it would never be simply fun again and they would never quite feel as being on the same side again. From that point on, in every of their shared adventures, there was the situation and that other guy.

Art never meant to make such a drama out of it; he didn’t want to lose Paul’s friendship. His parents however decided they did need to make a point and confront the Simons. This was not just a small teenage spat, a small betrayal between teenagers, but one between two neighbourhood families. The Garfunkels were of the opinion that neighbours should support and trust each other; both conditions trampled by the Simons. Not only had they accepted contracts behind the Garfunkel’s backs, but they also failed to mention it to them.

Art stood embarrassed behind his parents when his father rang the Simon’s door bell. The world seemed to turn around in slow motion. Art was not looking forward to the confrontation; what would it mean to his friendship to Paul? How far did his father plan to go? How would the Simon’s react? More importantly, how would Paul react? In Art’s experience it took an eternity for the door to open. Paul’s mother was on the other side, her face falling a little when she realized who was waiting at the door, but she quickly recovered and politely smiled and invited them in. Art’s father, his irritation still fresh, marched in followed by his calmer wife and his increasingly red son.

Paul stuck a cautious head into the room, his mother inviting the Garfunkels to sit down while she went getting her husband and eldest son. Art had already spotted him and grimaced apologetically. Louis Simon appeared a calm vision politely greeting and sitting down. Art’s mother, not wanting to get too involved followed Paul’s mother into the kitchen to help with coffee and cookies.

“Look here,” Jack, Art’s father, started.

Louis, a shorter man but he didn’t look it, remained calm, refusing to let the Garfunkels upset his demeanour.

Jack continued: “When the boys signed that contract it was for the two of them.”

Louis agreed: “Yes?”

“Going behind our backs and trying to squeeze out of it wasn’t the deal, it’s not good showmanship.”

Louis huffed momentarily, then recovered: “Jack, you are a business man, aren’t you?”

Art was staring at his feet, only half listening to the discussion. Paul was looking at Art trying to figure out how he fitted in this charade. He wasn’t exactly sure what the fuzz was all about; he didn’t do anything wrong. Surely, if the opportunity had presented itself to Art, he would have taken it, wouldn’t he? Paul’s gaze met Art’s only briefly, but it was enough for Paul to communicate to escape this theatre, together. Paul slid off of his chair quietly. The grown up men were so into their discussion, they didn’t even notice. Art looked up at Paul, then at his father in heated argument, then he too slid off of his chair and followed Paul out into the hallway. They were stopped when they were about to race up the stairs.

In the doorway of the kitchen stood two mothers, one holding a can of coffee the other one a plate of cookies.

“Take some cookies and drinks up with you,” Belle, Paul’s mother, whispered to the boys. 

“Thanks, mom,” Paul said before going into the kitchen to emerge with two glasses of soda. Art meanwhile took a handful of cookies off the plate and the boys quickly disappeared upstairs.

When they arrived in Paul’s bedroom, they took the time settling in. Neither of them was sure how the situation was, how sensitive their little spat and where they stood. They had never found themselves in such a delicate situation, not when it really mattered and it did.

Paul sat on his bed looking up at Art standing in the middle of the room the light of the lamp shining over him as if he was in a spotlight. Art felt rather exposed this way and he inched slowly to one side of the room to hide in a shadow.

“Why you and your parents here?” Paul sounded sincerely confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me you also got a deal for a solo record? I thought we were in it together.”

Art’s statement only furthered Paul’s confusion: “We are…What you’re talking about?”

“I’m talking about your deal for a solo record!”

Paul still wasn’t sure what he was accused of, or what the problem was. He remained silent not knowing what Artie wanted to hear.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Art asked again.

Paul shrugged still perplexed about the situation he found himself in: “I just forgot. It’s not a big deal.”

“You should have told me! It is a big deal!”

Paul frowned: “Wouldn’t you have taken the deal if it was offered to you?”

“No!...Well…yes…. I would have told you; you went behind my back.”

Slowly it sunk in why Art was reaction so hurt: “Why is it such a big deal to you? It had nothing to do with you!!!”

Art stared at Paul in disbelieve. How could he say that? It had everything to do with him. How could Paul not see he betrayed him.

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” Paul defended himself.

It became clear to Art they had quite different ideas about their friendship. It became clear to him that he cared more about it than Paul did, would lay himself down for Paul and now he wasn’t so sure anymore that Paul would do the same for him. If that was true, what was this relationship? Art felt the revelation stinging in his heart and it got stuck in his throat making it harder to breathe. Suddenly there was a possibility they wouldn’t be best friends forever, sharing everything, doing everything together. Suddenly it was very possible they were two separate people, fallible imperfect personalities. Suddenly Art felt less and robbed of some of their shared best qualities.

He had to get out. He had to do some thinking, rearrange his ideas of how he wanted to live his life. His own life, not Paul’s, not even a shared life, his own.

He left Paul all alone in his bedroom. The dark seemed darker to Paul than normally. Something between him and Artie had changed and he wasn’t sure what it was. It felt different, broken, incomplete, fractured. Something happened, Paul did not know what, he only knew it changed everything and it scared him a little. The best way he knew how to deal with it was pretending it didn’t happen, that everything was the same.

The last planned recording went ahead as scheduled. After “Hey Schoolgirl (in the second row)”, they had to take advantage of their momentum. Paul acted as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, but Artie felt cheated. Pretending it didn’t happen couldn’t hide the changed situation. It hung like a cloud over them and subtly informed every moment together. Time could heal their wounds, they’d be all right. When graduation and summer break came, it was a relief to both. They didn’t need any excuses to go their own way and they could focus on their next step in their school career.

~.~

It was strange to be alone again. Only now they were spending most of their times apart, they both realized how much time they spent together over the last couple of years; how much they shared over the last couple of years. Only now they realized how their lives revolved around one another, tangling up their interests, their developments, and their dreams. Neither of the boys knew how to move forward without the other. Paul had no-one to bounce off while writing and Artie had no-one to sing harmonies with. Nor was there anyone to discover new music with, and barely anyone laughing at their jokes. Both slowly returned into themselves, dreaming quietly on their own.

Of course school interfered as well. Both graduated from high school and choose different educations. Art moved into the city to study architecture leaving Paul behind to study English back in Queens. They didn’t see much of each other for a year. That was not to say their hearts and minds were abandoned; both still occupying a spot in the other boys’ conscience. Small titbits of news bleeding through; Art had a new girlfriend, Paul was trying to sell his songs in the Brill building. Art was getting bored with his studies and started singing in public again, Paul now had a new girlfriend too and took her to a performance. Cute. Also irritating. Why did the whole world think they wanted to know these things?

Life didn’t stop. Their ambitions and interests didn’t stop and neither did they. It just moved on without them being together all the time. Apparently, the world had a hard time dealing with it, even though it had nothing to do with them. It wasn’t painless; Artie felt as if an illusion had been taken from him and with it he had lost the ideal of his best friend. Paul had lost his greatest support, and it was sometimes difficult to keep going. Writing was hard and with no-one encouraging him and no-one to bounce off of, Paul sometimes felt like giving up. 

Then there was school. Art really liked school; it was regular and predictable and Art found it really easy to study. Books were patient and truthful. Paul, having chosen English to study, didn’t find much difficulty either. He liked every facet of writing, doing it himself in all kind of ways or reading it. It was all exercise. He only wished he could show Art what he learned.

~.~

The evening was young and the sun had started its descend casting Bleecker street in a golden glow. Restaurants, cafés and clubs were slowly filling up with people. Music started to slip out of doors and windows announcing new hopeful musicians and the excitement of possibly more new sounds. Paul played these clubs too, to not much avail. Everything and everyone wanted to sound like Bob Dylan, including Paul. Paul, however, found out quickly that he was quite a different person compared to Dylan, quite a different musician. Everything Paul sang came out straight, double meaning smashed flat, losing its appeal. This meant Paul had a different approach to writing his lyrics, but they were received with derision. Most found Paul too “preachy” and ridiculed or worse ignored him completely. To be fair, Paul had not quite yet found his style, one that was completely his own. He knew he wanted to write folk music, but there were different ways to go about it.

Paul pushed his hands deeper into his jeans’ pockets as he inched his way through small groups of people chittering away excitedly. None of the music played excited Paul much and most musicians were getting on his nerves. He was about to give up and call it a night when he heard a familiar melody. Was that one of his songs? Did someone have the nerves to steal one of his songs? Wait, hold on, Paul knew that voice. He knew it so well, he could predict every intonation and every pronunciation, because he used to wrap his own voice around it. Paul followed his ears into a club were a small group of people were gathered around one single person singing like a bird. He sounded better than any of the other musicians who’s music floated onto the streets. He even sounded better than the familiar voice had ever done, Paul noticed. 

Being rather small served Paul right at that moment as he pushed his way towards the front so he could see the boy with the halo of blond tiny curls. There he was, handsome as ever, all grown up, deeply into the music. He didn’t spot Paul at first. That weird concentrated stare, which was a little creepy. He nearly choked on his own words when he finally noticed Paul. Paul couldn’t help but grin at him. For the rest of his performance he barely looked at Paul, because he felt too embarrassed. After he finished his last song he thanked the audience, received some compliments and then started to grab all his stuff together. Paul approached him quietly and waited till Art was finished wrapping up.

”Hey,” he greeted sheepishly.

Art grinned and greeted in an equally sheepish way. They stared at each other for a little while trying to get a measure of each other. Out of the blue Art asked: “Wanna see my room?”

~.~

Paul stood in the middle of the room mainly watching Art being awkward showing him around. There was the desk, his bed, a small kitchen sink where he also brushed his teeth and a wardrobe that seemed unused judging by the clothes lying in front of it. Nothing special really. Art suddenly darted through the room to close the door when people entered the building. Paul raised his eyebrows, half amused half wondering.

“What you’re doing?”

Art answered turning the key and taking it out. He dropped it while he made his way towards Paul. His hands around Paul’s face as he planted his lips onto Paul’s. For a moment Art thought Paul was going to pull away, but he stayed put. Still, Art only relaxed when he felt Paul’s hands on his back and he was clearly kissing him back. Good, that was still the same. God, he didn’t even realize he missed Paul so bad. When their lips parted and Art took an embarrassed step back, their arms falling back by their sides, there it was it again, that light feeling in his head and the butterflies in his stomach. Why did they hardly see each other the last year? What did they fight about again? No, that was a lie, Art knew, remembered well why he stomped out of Paul’s bedroom and didn’t go back to say bye when he moved into his student room.

There he was again, standing opposite Art. Still small, still dark eyes masking his feelings, still Paul. Bright, lively, smart Paul. Mysterious, anxious, Paul. Beautiful Paul. Stop it Art!

“Sssooo…” he said.

Art repeated: “So…”

Paul rolled his eyes: “Here we are again.”

Art sighed and averted his eyes, staring at his own feet.

Paul observed him for a few seconds wondering if he should ask. When Art wouldn’t look up at him he went ahead: “Are you still angry with me?”

Art huffed, his reply more forceful than he meant it to be: “Yes!” 

He quickly revised: “No….I don’t know…”

Paul was ready to defend himself: “Artie…!”

But Art stopped him immediately: “Never mind that!”

And when Paul looked like he wasn’t going to: “It’s all right, it’s fine. I’m just glad you’re here now. Can we just forget about it?”

Paul shrugged: “Sure.”

Art was staring at his feet again when Paul’s fingers touched his hand. He sounded so vulnerable and sincere: “I didn’t mean to cut you out…I just had to try.”

Art let his breath escape as he looked up again, suspecting he still looked hurt. Paul’s fingers were curling in the palm of his hand hoping to reconnect. Art wanted to, was aching for it; Paul was still the most important person in his life. His need for Paul to be there won over the hurt of the still open wound of his betrayal. Art could live with that; he was sure, over time, the wound would heal.

Paul was holding his hand now as he stepped closer to Art pulling him into an embrace.

“Artie, let the past be. I missed you. You and I here together is what counts now.”

Art looked down into those dark eyes, his head swimming, his thoughts lost. He could smell Paul’s musky scent. The muscles under the cotton shirt were flexing in Art’s grip, Art was also impressed with the muscles on his chest, strong and pronounced. Probably Art was hungrier for his touch than Paul was for his, because it was Art leading them to the bed and lying Paul down on his back. Paul supported him down gently, their bodies pressing together. Art was back where he belonged.

“You’re all grown up,” Art’s voice sounded somewhat surprised. He didn’t know why.

Paul smiled at him: “Yeah, so are you.”

Art wasn’t sure what he wanted more, keep staring into his eyes or kiss him passionately. One would exclude the other and Art wanted both. Indecision made him hoover over Paul staring down. Paul started to frown at the inaction.

“Something wrong?”

Art shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Paul’s face: “No, you’re just beautiful.”

“Wow! Not even girls have ever said that to me.”

“They don’t see what I see.”

For a few seconds the boys were just staring at each other, before Paul broke the silence: “I missed you, Artie.”

Naturally, Artie took that as a cue to put his lips back where they wanted to be. Heaven and earth could implode and Art wouldn’t notice. All the struggle for the right words were put aside and his heart screamed. Beware! He’s going to hurt you again!!! But Art ignored the screaming, because he had to miss this for too long.

It was just like back in the days when they were still experimenting. Paul still tasted the same, smelled the same, though he was now all grown up. He had to give up playing baseball, Art could tell. His arms, however still muscled, now were bulkier. Paul wasn’t as lean anymore as he used to be, but he was still as muscled and strong as he once was. Lying on top of Paul, he could feel his chest muscles moving as Paul’s hands moved over his back and between his shoulder blades. Art’s hands roamed through Paul’s hair feeling the product he put in it. He let his hands go down into Paul’s neck and around his cheeks while his tongue explored the insides of Paul’s mouth and teeth. It was like coming home.

Art wanted nothing more than to show his love had not died down. He pulled away to grab Paul’s hips and turn him around. To his surprise Paul didn’t protest, even helped Art with his zipper and button on his trousers. Art hardly noticed; he was now in a different reality. Their love making felt like being in a dream, on a higher plane, where everything was good and right. Art felt like a little boy again when he pushed into Paul slowly thrusting in a rhythmic way. Warm and safe. He took extra care not to rush; it was hard not to give in to his cravings. He wanted to savour every moment, he wanted to really feel Paul all around him.

He forgot who and what he was and where but never with whom, when the intense reward washed over him. Spent he dropped next to Paul on the bed, his arm around him as if he was afraid Paul would get away.

“Still good,” Paul sighed. “Even better than I remember, and that means something.”

Art smiled, contented. Yes, he believed they could try again. Now he knew, he wouldn’t step in that pitfall again. He could focus on a different approach to this friendship. He could forget about what happened, ignore it, as if it never happened anyway.


	6. New Year Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two teenage boys around new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any characters bearing the same name as real life people are not incidental. These boys however do not really represent the real Simon & Garfunkel, but live in my dirty imagination. My apollogies to both Paul & Art, I just can't help myself....this has not been Beta’d…yet…
> 
> A little new year present to you all. Have a brilliantly sexy 2018!

Art opened his eyes slowly. Soft light was filtering through the cracks in the curtains. He was in his own bed, the familiar walls and ceiling, his own blankets and pillows, safe and warm. He lazily rubbed a fist in his eyes trying to clear the view and do a double take. It was just like so many other mornings, waking up, imagining Paul was right there with him, under the covers. Art blinked again at the small form next to him, one arm resting on Artie's shoulder, hair tickling his chin as he turned and looked down at the boy. Could it be real? Was Paul really there?

Last night could have been one of Artie's many fantasies. He remembered lying in bed, kissing lips, warm hands stroking his face and hair. The lips started travelling down his chin, kissing and nipping at the warm skin. Down a smooth teenage chest, where puberty had not quite yet arrived. Paul kissed delicately down Art's stomach and down his soft belly, heaving in anticipation. Art watched Paul breathlessly, his hand trembling holding the covers up. Soon Paul reached the area where the first signs of puberty had appeared. Paul was not shy, gingerly he kissed Art's most sensitive spot, a teasing lick eliciting a moan above the covers. Art let his head fall back in his pillow, the covers hiding the naughtiness the two young boys were engaging in. Paul's hands were holding Art's hips down gently, his tongue was circling the head of Art's penis sending spikes of pleasure and drawing more moans. When Art was fully erect, Paul put his mouth to work slowly moving over Art, licking and sucking. Art's eyes were closed concentrating on the shooting spikes of pleasure. It could be his imagination, but this felt so much realler. It made his head spin, his muscles contract and twitch and his voice sing out. Paul's mouth was so warm and the suction was so intense. Art's hands searched for Paul's head in a desperate attempt to pull him away before he came into his mouth, but all he could find where covers. In the end all he could do was crying out: "Oh Paul, I'm coming!" Paul's gripp tightened on Art's hips trying to control the jerking to not much avail. Paul sucked Art till his movements calmed down. He kissed Art's still pounding member as the tension slipped away. He kissed his way back up till he found Art's lips. Art could smell and taste himself on Paul.

This morning the only thing it made the evening before real was Paul's arm accross Art's chest.  
"This year," Paul promised: "This year we're going to make it big. Mark my words. You and me..."  
Art squeezed Paul's shoulder: "Yeah... like the Everly Brothers."  
Paul lifted his head momentarily to look up at Art. Their eyes caught, a weird look in Paul's eyes, but Art didn't think much of it and let it go completely when Paul echoed: "Like the Everly Brothers."


End file.
